Sitting at Barrel Grill in Peoria where my youngest, now 17, was buying me lunch, I saw the Ghost of Christmas Past at the table next to me – a man in a “best father in the world” shirt made by her daughter. It was absolutely adorable; of course, at this stage, I was just as happy with my $10 burger and beer. I still have an office full of various Fathers’ Day creations.
Last year, for my birthday, the same child got creative and made me a pillow made from a T-shirt of my father’s. That was a decidedly different present and still holds a place of honor in the bedroom. I mention this only because today was my fourth Fathers’ Day without my own father.
Dinner today was a solo venture, a half-order of nachos at Rock Bottom and a glass of iced tea. The youngest wasn’t hungry and went back to mom’s, one of the two oldest was shopping and the other still was at work. Which is fine, all in all, because I’ve reached the point in parenthood where the bulk of the work has been completed – all I can do is look upon them and hope that I’ve done the best I could.
I think I have. That, honestly, is gift enough.
(P.S. the grill set and new shirt were nice too, in case they read this.)